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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997636">the dreams that were lost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand'>junipersand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Memory Loss, Post-Crimson, The Crimson, after the egg arc, warden sam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:22:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad wakes in a cell with no memory of the egg, the Dream SMP, and especially, his friends. He is freed from the prison by chance, but what can he atone for if he has no recollection of his sins?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Antfrost/VelvetIsCake (Video Blogging RPF), Grayson | Purpled &amp; Ponk | DropsByPonk (Video Blogging RPF), Hannah | Hannahxxrose &amp; Niki | Nihachu, Luke | Punz &amp; Sam | Awesamdude, Skeppy &amp; BadBoyHalo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the dreams that were lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SaintOfGames is Bad. Yes. You heard me right. ಠ_ಠ OG BBH fans, you know what I'm talking about.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Cold.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s so very cold.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why was he so cold?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Saint gasped, eyes snapping open as electricity jolted through his body. The first thing he saw was an ugly shade of brown, the floor he was lying on uneven and hard, like miniature waves were molded into the ground itself. The second thing he noticed was how weak his body had become, even though he didn’t remember doing extensive exercises beforehand. Every breath he made was physically taxing, his lungs needing more oxygen than he could breathe in.</p><p>Where was he?</p><p>Gradually, he pushed himself up, his arms trembling unbearably. The jagged surface of the floor dug into his exposed palm, his skin red with marks and bruises. It took him the effort of a thousand lifetimes to prop himself against the wall, which was just as uncomfortable as the ground.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>With unfiltered horror, he stared at his arms, exposed and raw and <em>pale</em>. His fingertips were rounded, his nails long but not clawed. His arms were revealed for the first time in years, his hoodie nowhere in sight. Instead, he was wearing a simple, visibly oversized green shirt with jeans and boots. His skin wasn’t void black but it was colored flesh. He didn’t see the world with uncomfortably sharp vision but with the sight of a normal <em>human’s</em>.</p><p>He was human?</p><p>Lips trembling, he brought his hands up to his face, feeling the soft, unprotected flesh that was his cheeks. He raised them to his head. Long, uncombed hair draped down to his shoulders, but no horns or halo on him. Everything that made him supernatural was gone. The things that kept him alive for centuries have vanished without a trace.</p><p>But why? More importantly, where was he? He was trapped in a small space, covered by this unknown material from all six sides. Top, bottom, front, back, left and right. His only source of light was from a dimly lit lantern, but it could barely light itself up, let alone the room. He can’t see in the dark. Not like this.</p><p>He is human.</p><p>He is vulnerable.</p><p><em>Think</em>. He curled his knees and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face as he tried to keep his breathing even. <em>Think. What’s the last thing he remembers?</em></p><p>He remembered talking to a cat-like person about Munchy’s latest updates. They were supposed to bring in rewards for the players who have proven themselves worthy of them. He couldn’t recall what the reward was, nor what would make them worthy in the first place.</p><p><em>… no, that’s not it</em>.</p><p>He remembered someone coming to his server to apply for Mod. What was his name? He didn’t know. He only remembered the diamonds on his skin, glittering under the sun like stars on earth. He remembered endless frustration, unmanageable migraines and lava.</p><p><em>That’s not it, either</em>.</p><p>He remembered walking into a fresh server that’s been made by someone he knew. He was sitting by a path, dipping his legs into water while the people around them fished for their dinner. He recalled a campfire somewhere nearby as two of them tried to finish their shelter. The smell of smoke. The coolness of water on his clothes.</p><p><em>He’s getting closer. He could tell by how his memories are growing sharper. He can remember more details he didn’t seem to pick on before</em>.</p><p>He remembered building a mansion with the same person who irritated him to no end. He knew this by the crystals on their skin, the same gemstones now spreading to patches of his skin. There was a jukebox nearby, blasting some of their favorite music. He’d forgotten what the Disc was named, but he could remember pieces of their melody. He was planning out the foundation while that person ran around filling in their roof, shrieking nonsensical lyrics to occupy their minds. Saint didn’t remember what his voice sounded like.</p><p><em>Close. Very close</em>.</p><p>He remembered a war. <em>Wars</em>—multiple. There was a festival. A shower of fireworks and surges of phantom burns and pain. An execution that turned into a twisted spectacle of blood and gore. The smell of charred flesh and cloth and hair haunted his senses, but he could remember none of it. His nose scrunched, but he didn’t know why. He spent another war with three people. All familiar but their faces were not. He knew them. He was supposed to know them. He <em>should</em> know their names and what they meant to him.</p><p><em>He can’t remember</em>.</p><p>He remembered seeing red.</p><p>And nothing else.</p><p>Saint clutched his head, shaking as if it were a freezing winter night. Where was he? Why was he here? <em>What happened to him?</em></p><p>The gaps in his memory were far too great to be filled with guesses and assumptions. He was given a puzzle to complete without any pieces, only bits and corners that had nothing related to the big picture. This place didn’t look like a cave in or a coffin. It was a cell. If this was his fate—to be locked away for eternity and driven to insanity, he deserved to at least know what he’d done to deserve it. Or was this his punishment? To know nothing, to remain trapped in the dark alone—literally and figuratively—pondering over sins he could have but didn’t know he committed?</p><p>There was no food, no water, no airholes or anything. He didn’t remember most things, but he at least knew he’d been in here for some time. The air was stale and dust had gathered on the lantern’s handle. He didn’t know how he survived for this long without any of those. Granted, he was something beyond human, so they weren’t necessary for him to survive. But he was human now, and he could hardly recall how to be one, and it had nothing to do with his memory.</p><p>He wanted to call out—but to whom? For all he knew, he could be six feet under and put away from everyone else.  Why was he here? Did he commit crimes? Or was this a sick, cruel prank? Was anyone trying to kill him? As all his years as an Admin and an Owner of different servers alike, he didn’t have any enemies that wanted him dead. They disliked each other, but they would not wish each other suffering or death.</p><p>Still, it was better than just sitting around and waiting for a miracle. He looked up, but he didn’t know whether if that was the right direction to look. There were too many things he didn’t know. Too many questions that stirred in his throat.</p><p>“Hello?” he croaked, voice hoarse and weak.  </p><p>No answer. His ears rang from the silence. It was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat. They pounded in his ears, quickening as more words spilled from his throat.</p><p>“Can anyone hear me?”</p><p>Blood roared through his ears. He couldn’t feel his own hands.</p><p>“Is anyone out there?”</p><p>Cold sweat trickled down his back. The ringing in his ears was all he could hear, the drums in his chest all he could feel.</p><p>“Please,” he whispered, teeth clenching as tears prickled at his eyes. “I’m scared.”</p><p>Still nothing.</p><p>Saint’s body shook, his fingers twitching. His limbs were like lead, his body heavy like a ragdoll. But his head was light, like a balloon waiting to float off. He fought the urge to fall over and faint. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and let his body slump down, to relax and give into the sheer bliss of ignorance. He didn’t. He held on, but he didn’t know why.</p><p>Was he dying? His tongue was sand and his teeth like stone. They were sensitive to the touch, shooting pain into his nerves when he closed his mouth. His bones weighed him down while his mind was trying to break free, like he’d already died and his soul was trying to make its way out.</p><p>Would he become a ghost? A spirit in a world he didn’t know? Did he know anyone? Did anyone know him? It’s a pathetic way to go. To die not knowing why. To pass on without names to call for.</p><p>Maybe he truly deserved it. Maybe he did something so horrible that he had to be locked up for dead. But was it so wrong for him to know <em>why</em>?</p><p>He waited for something to pop up. He knew people would see their lifetime flash before their eyes before they died. Maybe he could get some names and faces there, yet he was met with disappointment. Even at his end, he knew no one and no one knew him. But he wasn’t getting a flashback nor did death take him. He was just there, weak and fragile but alive.</p><p>Not for long, though. He was bound to die.</p><p>A pickaxe smashed through the wall beside him, shocking him still. Stiffly, his eyes slid to the crumpling wall next to him, where it was getting smashed to bits, with the glint of an enchanted pickaxe flashing with each swing. Piece by piece, the walls fell, and a door was carved out in its place. Light poured in from the outside, and he had to look away as his eyes watered from the stimulus.</p><p>Saint’s chin turned up to be met with a man that was far too small for this tight space. He had to bend his head down to enter, and even then he had to kneel down to squint his eyes at Saint, his full expression unclear as half his face was hidden by an intimidating gas mask.</p><p>“Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “And what are you doing in here?”</p><p>Saint didn’t know who this was. He was familiar, for sure, but he didn’t have names or memories to match his face or voice.</p><p>“M—me?” he stuttered, voice shaking. “SaintOfGames.”</p><p>The stranger stared at him. He had forest green hair and his eyes and teeth were pointed. He wasn’t human. He narrowed his eyes, in full disbelief of Saint’s answer. “You’re human,” he declared. “Are you?”</p><p>Saint swallowed, but he nothing to swallow and he choked on air instead. He held his chest, body jerking as he coughed, the man putting a hand on his shoulder in concern. His hand was hard; scaled, supposedly.</p><p>“Are you okay?” he asked. “How long have you been stuck here for?”</p><p>Saint shook his head, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. The man paused after seeing the shirt, gears turning in his head while he tried to make sense of it all. He took his hand back, surprised.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Saint wisped. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I woke up here just now.”</p><p>“You… you just woke up?” he repeated. “Do you remember anything before that? About how you got here?”</p><p>Saint shook his head. His neck joints cracked. “Why?” he asked back. “Do you know why I’m here?”</p><p>The man fell silent. He stared at Saint somberly. Despite his mask, Saint could tell he was tightening his lips, his brows creased into a frown. This man knew things about him. He knew more than he was letting on.</p><p>“Do you not remember?”</p><p>It was Saint’s turn to blink. “Remember?” He couldn’t think of anything. Not because he had a sensical memory, but it was because he had nothing to work off of. Nothing he recollected made sense in the grand scheme of things. “Is this… a prison?”</p><p>He’d been to prisons before. He knew what they looked like, as fuzzy as those memories were. He could recall his earlier memories, but he couldn’t remember any of his recent ones. At least, not the ones that could explain why he was here to begin with. Years’ worth of memories disappeared into thin air. The answer in his grasp falling apart into dust, slipping through the gaps of his fingers and swept away by the wind.</p><p>Judging from the man’s hesitance, Saint was right.</p><p>“You remember nothing,” the man concluded.</p><p>Saint didn’t answer. He didn’t feel right to. With how the man was looking at him, Saint felt like it was his fault for not knowing.</p><p>The man put his hand on Saint’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”</p><p>Saint felt no joy or relief as he was carried out of the place called a prison. He was too weak to walk on his own, so the man had to carry him on his back. The man was way taller than him, his height almost doubling Saint’s. He wasn’t the tallest to begin with, but this man was <em>massive</em>.</p><p>He also noticed that the armor this man was wearing wasn’t something he worked with before. It was black in color, the carvings and intricate craftsmanship completely different than diamond or iron. Was this custom-made armor? But made from what?</p><p>They left the space by a floating bridge. Because of his condition, the man shielded him from the lava falls with his body, emerging unscathed as he’d drank fire resistance potions. He was familiar, for sure, but Saint just can’t recognize him or recall a name. He would have to ask for it later—but was he friend or foe?</p><p>Their journey was filled with complicated redstone mechanics that Saint could never hope to understand, especially with his delirium. By the time they were out, they were in another closed space, but larger and filled with furniture and chests. He helped Saint onto one of the sofas, pushing some water and food towards him before sitting on the seat across the table. Saint took one bottle and started chugging.</p><p>“So,” the man started, skeptical. “You said your name’s Saint?”</p><p>Saint nodded gently, pulling the bottle away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His throat stung as water gushed down the dry flesh. “I didn’t catch yours.”</p><p>The man’s expression scrunched up in confusion, but he masked it well under the guise of professionalism. “I see,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “My name is Awesamdude, but everyone calls me Sam. I’m the Warden of this prison we’re in right now.”</p><p><em>Sam</em>. He knew who that was. It was just on the tip of his tongue. But whenever he tried to delve deeper, to memories beneath the surface, his mind glazed over and his head was overtaken by a buzz.</p><p>“Can I know why I was in there?”</p><p>Sam opened his mouth, his finger raising, but he lowered it as grief settled into his face. “I don’t know.” He sighed, covering his face with his hands. “You weren’t supposed to be. Someone else—” He shook his head, looking back up. “The person who’s supposed to be there is gone, and I think they used you as a substitute.”</p><p>“What sentence did they deserve?” Saint asked. “Death?”</p><p>“No. Death is… too light of a sentence.” Sam brushed his hands together, his eyes darting around worriedly. “He’s not human, or like anything alive—at least, he <em>was</em>. That cell was specifically designed to hold him in for an unforeseen amount of time. Now that he escaped…”</p><p>“That cell,” Saint recalled the texture of the unusual material he was trapped in, “what was it made of?”</p><p>Now Sam was looking at him as if he were crazy. “Ancient debris,” he said anyway. “It was the only thing he couldn’t corrupt.”</p><p>“Is it hard to come by?”</p><p>“Hard? Nowadays, you have to travel in the Nether for weeks just to get enough for a full set of armor, not counting the tools and lodestones. With everything that’s happened in this place, ancient debris has become as valuable as someone’s life; if not, more.”</p><p>That sounded horrible, but Saint didn’t know that the Nether had any ores, let alone valuable ones. The only thing someone would need there was quartz, wither skeletons and blaze rods.</p><p>“Do you remember how you got here? Not to the prison, but just… <em>here</em>?”</p><p>Saint shook his head. No, he couldn’t. Sam muttered curses under his breath, something about history repeating itself and having to restrict the prisoners’ freedom even further, but Saint didn’t pry.</p><p>“Sai—Can I call you Sai? I know it’s your name, and all, but the word SaintOfGames is a mouthful.” When Saint nodded, Sam’s shoulders relaxed as he continued. “Okay, Sai, I’m going to give you some physical examinations to check for any residue magic, alright? After that, you’re free to go.”</p><p>“To go?” Saint’s eyes widened. “Go where?”</p><p>“Outside. If you’re shy, you can wait for me to introduce you to some people you can trust. There’s plenty of misunderstood people in these lands, but you won’t get on their bad side unless you’ve done something to wrong them. Stay away from people like Quackity, Tommy, Technoblade, Philza, Niki, Ranboo, Sapnap, Tubbo, Purpled, and George. Everyone else is fine.”</p><p>Saint clenched the water bottle in his hand. That was a lot of names to remember. “How many people live here?”</p><p>Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes shooting towards the table to think. “Twenty-seven.” Saint’s eyes widened. <em>That’s not a lot of people</em>. Sam noticed his look, and frowned. “There used to be more. Thirty-three, I think. But that’s a long time ago.”</p><p>Saint didn’t want to know what happened to them. He prayed that they left and not what he thinks they’ve become.</p><p>Sam stood from his seat and gripped an unnamed weapon tight. It was lean, with three pointed tips branching off from the top. It was turquoise, glimmering with enchantments that Saint didn’t know, just how he couldn’t recognize half the things he’d been told. His memory was faulty, but he hadn’t expected to be oblivious of the world’s workings.</p><p>“Can’t I just go home?” Saint asked, almost a whimper. “Why do I have to stay here? You said it yourself: it’s not safe and there’s a whole bunch of people who have screws loose in their heads. Why can’t I go back to where I came from?”</p><p>Sam paused, the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Then where did you come from?” He lowered the pointed weapon. “Do you know how to get back? Do you know the name of the place?”</p><p>Saint nodded. “It’s a place named Munchy,” he said. “Somewhere close to Invaded.”</p><p>“Then you can’t go back,” Sam deadpanned.</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>Sam turned his back and the doors in front of him slid open, pistons contracting as he stepped onto the pressure plates. For a second, Saint saw a flash of an entirely new image instead of the prison. He saw Sam, his back facing him, but visibly younger with shorter hair and less prominent scales, but they were peeling off his skin, revealing gaping flesh beneath. He was submerged in a small pool of bloody water, a red rope tying shoulders and arms down.</p><p>Saint blinked, and the image was gone, but the echo of a laughter didn’t fade from his ears.</p><p>“<em>Because</em>,” Sam said harshly, his jaw clenched tight, “it’s been gone for <em>years</em>.”</p><p>Saint’s blood ran cold.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>13 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>“Skeppy?” Puffy lowered her sword, eyes widening at the sight of the red gem. She was only a few feet away from the unconscious Celestial, the person that was once named Bad crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the vines sucking up every last drop. She was so close, but another obstacle emerged from nowhere. “Why are you—”</p><p>She was suddenly held at an impasse, her former friend pointing his axe towards her neck. His appearance was one of a beautiful tragedy—the diamonds embedded in his skin now bloody like rubies, gruesome flowers blooming from the tears between stone and flesh.</p><p>Skeppy took a step forward, forcing Puffy to back away lest her throat is cut. “Step away from Bad,” he said, voice monotone. His face was still as cold as the gemstones in his skin, but something was different. But what?</p><p>“Skeppy.” Behind Puffy, Sam gripped his sword tighter. “It’s two against one. You can’t win.”</p><p>The crystallian raised his shield and readied his axe. Unlike his movements before, he wasn’t controlled by strings or robotically placed. His posture was fluid, practiced and natural; the fire in his eyes finally burning after years of frost and ice. They just wished they saw it in better circumstances.</p><p>“You’ll lose,” he threatened, his voice still painfully dull and flat.  </p><p>“Bad is <em>dying</em>. The egg is killing him,” Puffy reasoned, raising her own shield. “Is that what you want?”</p><p>Skeppy’s lips pressed into a firm line. “He protected me,” he clapped back. “And I’ll do the same.”</p><p>“<em>Look</em> at him!” Puffy hissed. “You’re not protecting him; you’re putting his life at risk! Turn around and take a good fucking look!”</p><p>Skeppy did not turn around. Instead, he attacked.</p><p>And he lost.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>11 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>Red Velvet screamed.</p><p>With tears streaming down his face, he screamed up to the skies.</p><p>He held Ant close to his chest, begging him to wake, but his beloved could no longer answer him.</p><p>The Eggpire will <em>pay</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>10 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>Sam fell to his knees as he held his head in his hands. He blamed the Egg. He blamed the world. He blamed himself.</p><p>He pressed his forehead to the floor as sobs wracked his body.</p><p>He wasn’t fast enough.</p><p>Nor was he strong enough.</p><p>Punz<br/><em> – May you find redemption – </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>7 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>Purpled punched his walls, the shelves shaking and panes vibrating.</p><p><em>One punch</em>. His knuckles hurt and his eyes stung.</p><p><em>The second punch</em>. His knuckles bled but the tears refused to come.</p><p><em>The third punch</em>. He roared, his vision turning misty.</p><p><em>The fourth</em>. He sunk to the floor, hugging his own knees.</p><p>He never believed in God, but he was praying for a miracle.</p><p>He never believed in miracles, but he would do anything to get Ponk back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>4 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>Niki knelt down to a gravestone.</p><p>She dug a hole with her hands and planted one singular rose by the grave.</p><p>She covered it up and swiftly slid her hood back on.</p><p>She can’t let anyone know she’d been here.</p><p>“You didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, and disappeared into the shadows.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>3 Years Ago</strong>
</p><p>The egg is gone.</p><p>Quackity kicked the charred chunks of vines with his boot. It was hard, like charcoal. It clanged against diamond like a pebble hitting glass.</p><p>About fucking time.</p><p>“What’s going to happen to him?” he asked Sam, trying not to glance in Bad’s general direction.</p><p>Sam sheathed his sword and wiped blood off his cut on his cheek. The wound had dried off from the long battle.</p><p>“Locked away,” Sam said darkly. “Forever.”</p><p>Bad growled and bared his fangs, but he was powerless against the entire server.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Present Time</strong>
</p><p>Saint swore he was feeling some heavy déjà vu. He’d never been to this place, yet his leges carried him to places that he never thought existed. He would’ve easily missed the dark skull cave hidden in the shadows, and the remnants of what seemed to be a country blown to bedrock. Compared to the other buildings made of blackstone and stone brick, they were insignificant and easily overlooked. But he didn’t, and he saw every single one.</p><p>He continued down a path and came to its end. This land was in shambles; buildings blown to smithereens and crops withered to dust. All the animals were dead and their corpses left out to rot.</p><p>But what surprised him the most was the ruins at the end of this wooden path.</p><p>Unlike the other builds, this one was broken beyond recognition. Each piece was no larger than him, all lying in a massive heap with different materials mixed together. Quartz, obsidian, glass, wood and brick all reduced to debris, the original state completely eradicated off the face of the earth.</p><p>There were no dead bodies in sight, but the heaviness of sorrow and despair clawed at his lungs and throat.</p><p>How many people lived here?</p><p>Did they have dreams?</p><p>Were their dreams broken with this building?</p><p>
  <em>Were they lost?</em>
</p><p>The remnants of this build called out to him in a sense he will never understand. It’s a messy mixture between longing, need and anger. They weren’t supposed to go together, but life works in mysterious ways.</p><p>What was his body trying to tell him?</p><p>Why does he feel so… so <em>sad?</em></p><p>His lips quivers as he forces himself to turn away. He doesn’t know this place, and the people who lived here aren’t coming back.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His body knows more about this land than his mind does.</p><p>Before he realized what was happening, he was falling through a chute, then landing into a shallow body of water. The cold splash on his face was enough to wake him from his daze, his hair and clothes thoroughly soaked.</p><p>He was still wearing the green shirt. He didn’t know who it belonged to. It was too big for him, the collar barely slipping over both his shoulders.</p><p>Saint looked around. It was just as destroyed as the buildings outside. Perhaps even worse, with stale fumes trapped and lingering in the air. He jumped at the spiders’ hissing, but they were trapped and unable to escape. They crawled over the bodies of their predecessors, fangs tearing into their kind’s flesh without a care.</p><p>They can’t hurt him. They were trapped in an enclosed area with soul sand and stairs. The design resembled an EXP farm, but it had gone unused for a long time.</p><p>Somehow, he could tell that this place was a place for mourning. A life gone, a dream lost.</p><p>He let his legs carry him further. Down a tunnel to his right, leading to a deeper place.</p><p>It was dark; infinitely so. The stairs that led to the bottom were all broken, with steep cliffs and slopes replacing the manmade path. His body told him to go further, and he did. He carefully maneuvered himself down, cautious to not cut himself on the jagged stones on the walls and floor. Shards of obsidian and diamond littered the ground, each sharp and pointed like shrapnel.</p><p>What could splinter <em>diamond?</em></p><p>Eventually, he found himself in an open space. The debris that blocked his path had been cleared out by someone else, all kicked aside roughly but never officially. He grabbed a torch from the wall, relighting it with coal and oil he found in a chest. It wasn’t humid like he expected. In fact, the air was dry, just unventilated and unmoving.</p><p>He walked into the lion’s den, carrying the torch up.</p><p>At the end of the room was a small corner. It was lit up and maintained, but the rest of the cave was broken and ruined. There were lanterns sitting on the floor around two builds, seemingly ancient yet perfectly intact. Two statues sitting by each other, and a crippled man staring in a wheelchair.</p><p>Saint wasn’t alone.</p><p>His breath hitched. His mind considered running, but his body urged him forward. By the time he regained his senses, he was standing only a few feet from the twin statues, and nerve rackingly close to the wheelchaired man. Another step, and the man would turn around and see him. One move, and he would be caught.</p><p>Saint should have turned around and left. He wanted to leave and return home. But he stared; his eyes flicked to every detail of the statues, their craftsmanship painfully familiar. The statues were old, covered in vines and debris, but they were the only surviving builds he’d seen as of now.</p><p>Whoever built them knew what they were doing.</p><p>His eyes slid from the statues and towards the man in the wheelchair. The lanterns’ light was dim, but he could make out the man’s silhouette. He was thin, but not underweight. His shoulders were firm, but they slumped as if he’d lost his fight. His hair was unkempt, framing his face like a veil for mourning.</p><p>He looked sad—like a survivor of war and a product of grief.</p><p>“Who are you?” the man asked, and Saint’s heart skipped a beat. How did he notice him? He barely made any sound.</p><p>Saint coughed and straightened himself. The man didn’t turn. His voice was raspy and whispery, like he couldn’t muster any energy to even talk. “I—I’m Saint,” he stuttered. “And you are?”</p><p>The man did not answer. He continued to stare listlessly at the two statues, lying his head on the backrest of the wheelchair.</p><p>“Did you make these statues?” Saint continued, trying to find common ground.</p><p>This time, he got a response. The man raised an arm, pointing a finger to the black and white statue on the right. It was pitch black, the builder visibly inexperienced compared to the other, but they were coated in the same enchantments that protected them from harm. It was a team effort.</p><p>“Your statue looks lovely,” Saint said. “I like the whites. Is that a hood?”</p><p>He used to wear a hood, too. Though they were red, not white. He wondered where his clothes have gone to.</p><p>Unexpectedly, the man reacted poorly to this.</p><p>“They’re not supposed to be white!” He scowled, back straightening and gripping his armrest. “They’re red!”</p><p>Saint took a step back from his outburst. He looked to the man, then back to the statue. Why does the color matter so much? The man can’t change it himself, either… An idea appeared in his head like a lit candle flame.</p><p>He searched through the nearby chests after pushing fallen stone off them. The only thing he could find was stacks and stacks of cobblestone and dark oak slabs. Whoever’s been working on this place must have worked hard, only for it to be reduced to an underground wasteland.</p><p>In the last chest, he found half a stack of red concrete. He held it in his hands with some cobblestone and a stone pickaxe. This was the least bit of kindness he could offer, as he didn’t know what else to do. He built up to the statue’s arms and broke the white concrete, piece by piece.</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey!” the man snapped, trying to stop him but he was stuck on his wheelchair. “What the fuck do you think you’re <em>doing</em>?”</p><p>Saint worked as quickly as he could, breaking the last bit of white concrete. He wiped sweat from his brow, and swiftly replaced what he’d broken with red concrete instead. The man finally realized what he was doing, and stared at him, agape.</p><p>Before he climbed down, however, the man called out to him.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, sounding calmer. “Can you break those four bits? They’re supposed to be white.”</p><p>Saint leaned back and checked the face. “Are they eyes? Just pure white?” Who had eyes like those?</p><p>“Just white,” he confirmed. Why did he want white as this statue’s eyes when he disliked white so much?</p><p>By the time he was done, he climbed down and destroyed the cobblestone tower he made. It took extra effort, especially with his weaker strength and the rotting pickaxe, but it was done. He put the materials back in the chest and brushed his hands together, brushing dust from his skin.</p><p>He didn’t mind helping others. He just didn’t expect tears to stream down the man’s face.</p><p>Saint rushed towards the man’s side and knelt by his wheelchair. “Are you okay?” he asked, warily putting a hand on his. “Did I do something wrong?”</p><p>The man shook his head, wiping his tears with his hands. “No. Nothing’s wrong,” he choked, abruptly wrapping his arms around Saint and pulling him into a hug. “<em>Thank you</em>.” His body shook with relief. “Thank you <em>so much</em>.”</p><p>Saint returned the hug to the best of his ability from his awkward position. He patted the man’s shoulder and kept his mouth shut when tears stained his shirt.</p><p>“It must be very important to you,” he said.</p><p>The man nodded, pulling away and wiping the rest of his tears with the base of his hand. “This is all that’s left of my best friend,” he croaked, fingers trembling. “I wanted to fix him up myself, but I…”</p><p>He didn’t continue the sentence. They knew where he was going. Something tragic happened here. There were far too many stories that end in tragedies and not enough happy endings.</p><p>“I’m Skeppy,” he said finally, giving a hand to Saint.</p><p>Saint took his hand. There were diamonds encrusted in his fingers. “I’m Saint.”</p><p>Skeppy smiled at him, but it never quite reached his eyes. Saint could only what horrible thing that’d happened to them for his friend to be taken from him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>I want to clarify some things! (+ some lore)</b>
</p><p>- Hannah, Punz, Ponk and Ant are very much dead. In fact, everyone in the Eggpire has died, some in more forms than one. A fighter dies once they stops picking up their sword (Skeppy) and a person dies as their memory fades (Bad).</p><p>- Saint, AKA Bad, still has his items in an enderchest. But he doesn't know that... unless?</p><p>- Everyone knows Bad as BadBoyHalo, not Saint. He was SaintOfGames before he is BadBoyHalo. </p><p>- Statistically speaking, Saint/Bad cannot remember anything beyond the 1.8 Minecraft update. He does not know what Netherite, Tridents, and a lot of things. Boy is he in for a surprise... </p><p>- Wait till Saint finds out about bees!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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